


The Untold Story of Milah.

by WonderstruckSwan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, also some emotional abuse in later chapters because rumple, if you're here for the millian it's a while before killian shows up, some off-screen domestic violence, this is not rumple friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderstruckSwan/pseuds/WonderstruckSwan
Summary: Before Captain Hook, before Rumpelstiltskin, before Snow White, before the Evil Queen, there was Milah.This is her story, from childhood to adulthood. A story of love, adventure and courage.





	The Untold Story of Milah.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I writing a fic about the backstory of a character who was in two episodes?  
> Yes. I am.

Milah was born in the middle of spring with eyes like the ocean and the heart of an explorer. She was wild and imaginative, staring out at the ocean and imagining what it would feel like to be out there, with the wind in her hair and the salt spray of the sea on her face, to see every land untouched by man.

Reality was very different. She lived in a small house with her mother-who looked after babies while their mothers went off to work or, in the cases of the wealthier ladies, to socialise-and her father-the town drunk who earned money working in the factory and lost money in the taverns. Her father was violent and loud, most times with her mother but she sometimes had to bare his screaming and on occasion, a slap on the back or hair being pulled so fiercely she had to hold back tears.

Still, her father was away often enough at work or the tavern, only back during the night most of the time, so Milah could  make herself useful in the house. It passed the hours while most of the other children went to the local school. She didn’t mind the babies so much when there was only a few of them, they were sweet and fun to play with. Those that walked and talked adored her. But she wasn’t overly fussed on the changing nappies and moping up vomit.

“What’s this one called?” she asked her mother as she leaned over one of the cribs. A plump baby looked up with sparkling brown eyes and smiled, reaching up to grasp her hand. She gave him her finger instead.

“That one’s Albert,” her mother replied, stroking her back gently. “His mummy’s off visiting friends today.”

“Couldn’t she take Albert with her?” Milah asked, sounding much more like her mother or the older ladies in the village than a six year old.

“Afraid not. It’s a….. grown up visit. Milah, do me a favour and fetch me some napkins?” With a sigh, Milah pried her finger from Albert and did what she was told.

Later that evening, after the last mother had come to collect her child and hand over the money, Milah’s mother was slipping on her jacket, a purse clutched tightly in her hand. She glanced out the window. Still light out. Father wasn’t due back.

“Milah, I’m just running a quick errand.” Milah looked up from her drawing. “If you need anything, Mrs Teal is next door. I won’t be a moment." 

Before Milah could react, the door closed and she was left alone. Not that she minded. Her mother having to run errands and leave her alone wasn’t uncommon. She kept sketching, her picture meant to  be a sea monster she’d heard about at a poetry reading she had gone to.

The monster was from one of her favourite stories, even if she couldn’t remember it properly. Her mother had given her the money for her birthday to spend on whatever she pleased and she spent it on entry to a night of stories where she sat on the floor of an old sailor’s house and listened to his tales. He talked about exotic lands where women danced in the streets and man turned people into snakes, about monsters that lurked in the deep and sweet singing mermaids who lured sailors to their dooms. She almost cried when it was over.

Very few of the sailors who came to their portside town wanted to share stories. Especially not with a little girl. She had sat and watched them come in from voyages and strained to hear what they said. She had her heart set on taking herself off on a ship like that one day. Maybe she’d take her mother too. And leave her father calling after them.

"I’m back!” There was something off about her mother. She was smiling wider than Milah had seen before. She had a package wrapped in a cloth under one arm and in her hand was a brown envelope. She placed the package carefully on the table, pushing it towards her.

“It’s not my birthday,” Milah reminded her, accepting the package carefully.  
“Can’t I give my baby girl a treat because she deserves it?” After a nod from her mother, Milah opened it. Inside was a large, black book with empty pages and two pencils.

“Mum!” Milah squeaked, smiling. “Mum, I love it!" 

"There’s more.” Her mother pushed the envelope over to her. Milah opened it and found a large piece of paper with black ink over it but couldn’t decipher it.

“Mum, I can’t read,” Milah reminded her. That didn’t stop her mother from smiling.

“You will be able to in a week.” Milah frowned. “Milah, that’s your letter saying you can start school tomorrow. I went down, paid my money upfront and got it all sorted today.”

Milah didn’t even wait. She jumped on the table, ignoring how she crumpled her picture, ran across and flung her arms around her mother’s neck.

“Really?” she asked. “Like, really, seriously, actually?”

“Really, seriously, actually, my girl.” Her mother picked her up and spun her around before setting her down.

“But how much did it cost?” she asked. She wasn’t a fool, school wasn’t cheap and there was food, water, clothes and firewood to pay for.

“Never you mind that. I managed to save up by doing some extra work.” Milah wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist again.

“Thank you mum.”

School. Actual school. She could learn to read and write and then keep all the stories for herself so she wouldn’t have to try to remember them. She could learn to count too and then help her mother with the money. Most importantly, she’d learn about the world beyond her village.

Her father wasn’t overly happy about it. She was in bed when he came home but she could still hear the yelling from her bedroom (in fact she was sure the whole town heard it).

“How much did this cost?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Don’t lie to me! How much did this bleeding school cost us?”

“I got extra money for it. I worked-”

“You got extra money and didn’t think to use it to put bread on the table? You decide to send her swanning off there to learn fairytales?”

“She deserves an education! She’s bright, you know-”

“What she deserves is a good smack on the arse. What does she need an education for? She’ll get a job in the factory or take over your baby business and be happy enough.”

“She won’t be-” Her mother was cut off by a sharp slap. Milah winced and buried herself under the blanket, praying for sleep. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

Her mother shook her awale gently the next morning just as her father was heading out the door. She’d laid out her blue dress for her, freshly washed, and started brushing her hair and plaiting it while she looked at herself in the mirror. Neither one mentioned the bruise on her mother’s cheek that had appeared overnight.

“I can stay home if you want,” she said softly. Her mother shook her head.

“What kind of mum would I be if I let you miss out?” She stroked Milah’s cheek softly. “Don’t you worry about me. Or your dad.”

Her mother had an early start so Milah had set off to school on her own, her book under one arm and pencils held tightly in one hand. She had no trouble with getting lost, she’d memorised the path down to the schoolhouse since she was old enough to toddle. 

Yet when she got there, she wanted to keep going. Leave and never return. Or run home and hide under her bed. She stopped in the middle of the street, letting the sea of people flow around her as she shifted nervously from foot to foot. 

“Are you lost, kid?” a man next to her asked. Milah shook her head quickly. “Well you’d best be going in. I expect class will be starting up soon.”

If there was one thing stronger than her nerves, it was Milah’s desire to learn. Her legs took off, scurrying into the schoolhouse.

She didn’t know what she expected. She found a long narrow room with a teacher’s desk at the front and several brown wooden chairs, some not looking the safest. A crowd of children swarmed past her and took up all the seats, leaving Milah and a few others to sit on the floor. There were all ages, some as young as her, some a good bit older. Girls with full chests and boys with broad shoulders and stubble sat at the back while Milah’s age group sat near the front. There was excited chatter for a while before the door opened and silence cut across the room. A tall, willowy blonde woman with her hair in a braid over one shoulder flew into the room and took her place at the teachers desk. Milah pulled her knees close to her chest, eyes darting around to the other pupils. Some simply looked at their teacher expectantly, others looked to the ground, slumped in the seat. Some heards turned to look at Milah.

“We have a new pupil joining us,” the teacher announced, eyes scanning the room. “Milah?” Milah didn’t move. “Milah put your hand up so I know where you are.” Slowly she raised her hand. “Welcome to our class Milah. I’m sure you’ll be a welcome addition. My name’s Agatha.” Agatha smiled, a warm and gentle smile and Milah felt herself relax.

Once the rest of the children were set to work, Milah and a few others her age were taken into the corner with Agatha. Milah had her book open on her lap, her pencils right beside her with her hand hovering protectively over them.  
“That’s a nice book,” a red haired girl beside her remarked. “Where did you get it?”

“My mum bought me it,” Milah mumbled, not making eye contact even when the girl smiled.

“My mum won’t get me anything.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ciara.” Milah hesitated before taking her hand. 

“Milah." 

Conversation stopped when Agatha sat next to the group, perched on a stool, with a few sheets of paper in her hand.

"Now Milah before you arrived we had started learning our letters. It’s all right if you’re a bit behind, you’ll catch up.”

“You’re probably better than Ciara already,” a boy in their group laughed. Ciara’s face turned the same shade as her hair. Milah’s fists clenched. His words weren’t unlike what she’d heard her father say to her mother (or to her when he felt like it).

“Joseph,” Agatha scolded. She took a breath and composed herself. “Now let’s begin.”

The lesson was simpler than Milah had anticipated. They went through the different letters and even learned how to spell words. By the end of the morning, Milah had written “My name is Milah” in semi neat writing. Ciara’s mouth had fallen open in shock.

“You’re clever,” she remarked. 

“No,” Milah corrected her. “I’m not really." 

"Yes you are,” Agatha told her. “Look, you can write sentences already. Keep this up and you may be one of my high-flyers.” Milah wasn’t sure what a ‘high-flyer’ was, but she still felt herself glow with praise.

The better lesson was kept for the afternoon. Agatha presented them with plain paper (although Milah preferred her book. It was special) and coloured pencils and told them to draw what they felt like.

While others sat and stared at the page for a while, Milah didn’t waste any time in starting to draw the harbor. She sat, completely engrossed in her work, mapping out every detail as carefully as she could. She liked drawing and she knew she was good at it. She wanted Agatha to be impressed. She wanted to be a high flyer.

“Let’s see, Milah,” Agatha asked after some time had passed. She looked up and realised that her classmates had already finished pictures of cows and houses. She quickly felt a blush run up her cheeks. 

“It’s not finished,” she whispered, hugging her book to her chest. Agatha bent down to her level.

“It’s okay,” she reassured her. “Can I see what it’s like so far?” Slowly, Milah turned the book around and showed her the half finished picture. Agatha’s mouth fell open and Milah worried she’d be thrown out by the scruff of her neck. “Milah it’s lovely.”

“It is?” Agatha nodded, still smiling.

“It really is. I think we’ve found someone quite extraordinary.”

School quickly became Milah’s favourite part of the day. Reading and writing were enjoyable, especially when Agatha read from books of myth and legend, counting was quite dull but she could work through it quickly enough, but there were the weekly art lessons, where Milah was given colouored pencils and could lose herself in landscapes. Blocking out the noise of the classroom, forgetting about home.

On some afternoons where she was free, she’d take her nearly full book out to the harbour and sketch the boats there. She sat like a woman in prayer, bent over her book and clutching her pencils so tightly her knucles turned white, filling page after page with illustration.

Myabe one day, she could switch places and look at the town from the view of a boat.


End file.
